Just Like Other Daughters

by Colleen Faulkner

  I turn on the light in the hall and walk down the hall. “Mom! My belly hurts!”

  “Chloe?”

  I hear her. I feel bad because she was asleep. But she said if my belly hurts, to wake her up.

  “Chloe? What’s the matter, hon?”

  Mom comes out in the hall. She’s wearing the pj’s me and Jin gave her for Christmas. They have Christmas kittens on them. I clapped when she opened her present. I love kitten pajamas.

  “Mom, my belly hurts,” I tell her. When I walk, water runs down my legs and scares me. I look down. “I didn’t pee! I didn’t.”

  Mom laughs, but she looks like she’s going to cry. “Oh Chloe, honey, it’s okay.” She hugs me. She doesn’t even care if she gets in the wet on the floor. “It’s the baby!” she says. “The baby is coming.”

  Do more women go into labor at night, or does it just seem that way because it causes more disruption? Chloe wakes me at four thirty in the morning. It’s January eleventh. A good day to have a baby. I’m excited as I help her get dressed and bundle her into the car. I’m scared, too. I call Jin on our way to the hospital because I promised her I would, but I tell her to go back to sleep. This is a first baby. Who knows how long it will take for Chloe to deliver?

  After Chloe is admitted and settled into her cozy pink and blue labor and delivery room, with a couch for me to rest on, I call Randall. It’s seven by now. A decent hour. He doesn’t answer. I leave a message. Then I call Margaret. I leave a message there, too. On impulse, I call Mark. He picks up on the second ring.

  “I wake you?” I say.

  “Nope. Already on the road.” I hear him swallow a mouthful of coffee. “Got a toilet overflow situation at an insurance agency in town.”

  “Well, I’ll let you get to that,” I say, leaning against the wall in the hall outside Chloe’s room. “I just wanted to let you know that Chloe’s officially in labor and has been admitted.”

  “So this is it,” he says.

  “This is it.” I sound up. I feel up. I can do this. I can do it with the help of my friends. I’m learning to accept their help. Maybe it will even be nice to not feel like I have to do everything alone.

  “You want me to come over? Just for moral support?”

  “Oh no. There’s no need. She’s only two centimeters. This is going to be a long day. Chloe’s doctor hasn’t been in yet, but the nurse has already said we can expect a long day.”

  “You’re sure? I can bring you a cup of coffee.”

  I laugh. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Talk to you later?”

  I smile. “Talk to you later.”

  Jin shows up after her 1 p.m. class. I’m glad to see her because Chloe isn’t dealing well with the labor contractions. She’s crying. We had a kicking episode. Dr. Alvarez comes in between seeing patients in her office, examines Chloe, and explains to me that it’s still too soon to give her an epidural. The epidural would relieve the pain of the contractions, but it’s hard to judge how much longer Chloe will be in labor and the spinal anesthesia could only be administered for a certain length of time. Giving it to her too soon can mean having to push with no pain medication.

  I try to remain patient with Dr. Alvarez. I understand what she’s saying, but Chloe is not the average mother in childbirth. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. Not really.

  Dr. Alvarez promises to stop back in after her end-of-the-day appointments, and I go back into the room where Jin is sitting with Chloe.

  My daughter’s face is swollen from crying. She’s already pulled her IV out once so she has a bandage on one arm, an IV in the other. The nurse mumbles something about restraints. I don’t want Chloe restrained, so Jin and I take turns sitting next to her, trying to keep her calm. We try to show her how to breathe through the contractions, but as soon as they get rough, she can’t concentrate and starts to cry and fight the contraction.

  Jin slips out of the chair when she sees me. “I’m going to give Abby a call.”

  “Any word?” I ask as we pass. A couple of hours ago, Abby got a call that her father had had a stroke. Abby was already at the airport, trying to catch a flight to the West Coast.

  Jin shakes her head.

  I move into the chair next to Chloe’s bed. Chloe’s lying there under the sheets, a wide elastic belt around her belly. The monitors and the IV pump beep. Her red eyes are squeezed shut.

  “Mom,” she says, half-opening her eyes. “It hurts.”

  “I’m here.” I take her hand, which is missing her wedding ring. One of the nurses made her remove it; it’s in my bag for safekeeping. “Soon the doctor will give you some medicine and it won’t hurt as much.”

  “I don’t want a baby.” She thrusts her lower lip out. “I don’t want it.”

  I smile to myself. Don’t all mothers in labor think that, at some point? “It’s going to be okay,” I say. “This will all be over in a few hours and then we’ll have a cute little baby to hold.”

  “I can hold a baby.” She closes her eyes. “But you have to change the diaper. I don’t like a stinky diaper.”

  “Sure. I’ll change the diaper,” I say.

  And the hours pass. Slowly. Chloe’s labor progresses . . . slowly. The pain begins to wear on me, after a while. My daughter’s in pain and I can’t alleviate it.

  Randall comes by, but he only stays five minutes. He’s obviously uncomfortable in the labor room with his daughter in the bed and me pacing. I’m not upset that he doesn’t stay. It’s not like I want him here for the delivery. He tells me to call him and let him know what happens. He mentions he has an early class tomorrow. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with that information. Jin says that means don’t call him after 10 p.m.; he needs his beauty sleep. Jin has never liked Randall and never pretended to.

  When the nurse comes in to check on Chloe at 9 p.m., I get snarky with her. I’m tired and I’m worried. The nurses say eighteen hours isn’t unusual for labor, but it seems like it’s been so long. And I don’t see the end in sight right now.

  “Seven centimeters!” she says cheerfully. The way she says it, she reminds me of Margaret. Who left me a very brief message this morning promising to pray for the baby’s safe delivery and who hasn’t called back since.

  “That’s far enough along for the epidural, right?” I say to the nurse.

  The blonde in the pink scrubs snaps off her disposable gloves. “I’ll have to check with her doctor.”

  “I understand that. I understand you can’t administer the epidural, personally. But could you call Dr. Alvarez?” There’s an edge to my voice. “Could you do that?”

  “If Dr. Alvarez gives the okay. But then I’ll have to call over to anesthesia.”

  The monitor that shows Chloe’s contractions begins to hum and Chloe moans. “Mom . . .”

  I lean over Chloe, getting my face right in hers. “Okay, here comes another. Take my hand and get a deep breath.” I breathe in deeply, hoping she’ll imitate me.

  “No . . .” Chloe groans. “I don’t want a baby.” Her voice becomes high-pitched as the contraction gets stronger. “Mom! Make it stop! It hurts . . . Make the baby stop!”

  Holding Chloe’s hand, I turn to the nurse. “Call the doctor, call the anesthesiologist, call the hospital director, if you have to!” I’m getting loud. “I want my daughter to have that epidural. Now! Do you understand me? Right now!”

  The young woman hustles out. Thirty minutes later, the anesthesiologist appears. He administers the epidural and Chloe’s pain subsides considerably. I apologize to the nurse. Twice. She tells me not to worry about it.

  Jin stays with me. Mark comes. He brings me coffee and a chicken salad sandwich he made himself. With a pickle. He’s not uncomfortable hanging out in the labor room with me. He’s sweet to Chloe. He goes home because I tell him to, but he makes it clear that I can call him if I need him. Or if I need another chicken salad sandwich. It doesn’t matter how late or how early it is.

  Chloe starts
pushing at 2:35 a.m. It’s hard, but she’s a trooper. Jin stands on one side of her, I stand on the other. With every push, I feel like I’m pushing, too. I don’t think about what kind of mental disabilities the baby will have, or how I’ll deal. I just want to get this over with. I just want to help Chloe get through it.

  The baby boy is born at 3:47 a.m. He’s almost eight pounds. Chubby. With big blue eyes and no eye folds, no shortened limbs, no disproportionate head. I know the test came back negative for Down syndrome, but I didn’t trust it. I trust what I see. I can’t catch my breath. He looks like a normal newborn.

  “There you go, Chloe! Congratulations,” Dr. Alvarez declares. She wraps the slippery infant in a receiving blanket. “Would you like to cut the cord, Alicia?”

  I’m crying so hard that I can barely see to take the scissors.

  “You want to hold him, Chloe?” Dr. Alvarez asks as the baby is separated from her body.

  Chloe shakes her head. She doesn’t really even look at her little boy. “I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink?” She looks at Jin. “Can I have Gatorade now, Aunt Jin?”

  Dr. Alvarez looks at me. “Would you like to hold him for a minute, Alicia? Before the peds nurses have a look at him?”

  I’m too choked up to speak. Then he’s in my arms, looking up at me with big, dark blue eyes. Eyes that seem to see me. Eyes that speak to me.

  I feel like I can’t breathe. He looks so normal. He feels normal. His muscle tone seems right. I meet Dr. Alvarez’s gaze. “He looks—”

  “Perfectly healthy baby boy,” she says softly. “We can run tests, of course, but—”

  Suddenly a loud beeping comes from one of the monitors behind Chloe’s bed. Everything happens so quickly then. It’s a blur.

  It was all a blur then. It’s all still a blur.

  I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the cold windowpane in Chloe’s room. I don’t know what’s happening. Everyone in the delivery room was so happy and smiling one second, and then the next, they aren’t.

  Someone sweeps the baby out of my arms. Jin and I are pushed back from the bed where Chloe lays. I don’t see her close her eyes. If she’s had some sort of convulsion or something, I don’t see it.

  Dr. Alvarez hollers for a crash cart. Everyone crowds around the bed. I can’t see my Chloe anymore. A code blue is called over the intercom to Chloe’s room number.

  “What’s happening? What’s happening?” I keep saying.

  Somehow Jin gets to me in the room full of doctors and nurses. She pulls me into her arms. We’re both crying. Someone pushes us out into the hall. The door keeps opening and closing. People coming and going. Rushing.

  I don’t know how much time passes. A long time, I think. Maybe an hour?

  Even though it’s only been three days since it happened, I can’t remember exactly what Dr. Alvarez said when she came out into the hall. Her mask was gone. She was still wearing a yellow disposable gown over her scrubs. There were tears in her eyes.

  “No, no,” I remember whispering. You see this scene in movies. You read them in novels. You think you know how it will feel. You think you can imagine the pain. But you can’t imagine the depth of the pain.

  Jin had her arms around me. She was holding me. Keeping me upright, I think.

  “Would you like to step into a room?” Dr. Alvarez asks me, pulling a surgery cap off her dark head. “A place more private?”

  I remember shaking my head. Feeling numb. “Right here is fine.” I don’t think I could have moved. I knew what she was going to say. In my mother’s heart, I knew.

  “I’m so sorry, Alicia. Chloe’s dead. Of cardiomyopathy,” she told me, mincing no words. “We did everything we could.”

  “A heart attack? A heart attack?” I know I said it several times.

  Jin was crying. Still holding me.

  “But . . . she had no history,” I remember saying. “Down syndrome people . . . they have cardiac issues. But not Chloe. Chloe didn’t have anything wrong with her heart.”

  Dr. Alvarez took one of my hands. She looked into my eyes. “There was no indication there was a problem. This is very rare with mothers, Alicia. But it happens.”

  I remember trying to breathe. I couldn’t think. I remember asking about the baby. Dr. Alvarez assured me he was fine. Healthy and fine. She told me that he scored a perfect ten on his APGAR. She said that I could certainly have him tested when he got older, but she saw no evidence of mental retardation. She said that the pediatrician on call had confirmed her observation.

  So my twenty-eight-year-old daughter was dead, and I was the grandmother of a healthy baby boy.

  And now here I am, standing at Chloe’s window, with a newborn asleep in the crib against the wall. Jin and I brought him home this morning. The hospital offered to keep him a few more days. Just until after the funeral, but I need him here. I know he can’t fix this feeling that my heart has seized up . . . but I couldn’t sleep last night with him in the hospital. My Chloe’s little boy. I need him here.

  I hear the front door open. It can’t be Jin because she just left to get more diapers and formula. Whoever it is, I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not Randall, who seems more pitiful than useless to me now. Not Margaret and her platitudes. Not any of my well-meaning colleagues, who don’t know what to say, leaving me not knowing what to say to them.

  “Alicia?”

  I’m still resting my forehead on the windowpane. I open my eyes. It’s flurrying now. The grass in the backyard is brown and brittle, with a dusting of white. I remember playing soccer in the yard with Chloe. The picture Jin took of us is still downstairs on the refrigerator.

  I’ve cried so much in the last three days that I’m out of tears.

  “Alicia?” Mark’s voice drifts up the stairs.

  The baby is stirring, but I can’t seem to move away from the window. “Up here.” My voice cracks.

  I hear him on the stairs. He comes up the hall and walks into Chloe’s room. He walks up behind me, stands there for a minute, then puts his hand on my shoulder.

  The baby starts to whimper.

  We just stand there for a minute, then he moves away from me. I hear him walk to the crib. He’s making soothing little cooing sounds, the kind you make to babies. Words that don’t really mean anything.

  The baby quiets and Mark walks back to me, rocking a bundle of flannel blankets in his arms. Now the baby is making little mewing sounds.

  “There’s a pacifier,” I say.

  “Got it.”

  I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to feel this tenderness in my heart because, somehow, I feel like it’s a betrayal of my love for Chloe. But I can’t help myself.

  I turn away from the cold window and look at the baby Mark’s cradling. He looks good with a baby in his arms. With my baby.

  I touch the infant’s cheek. I inhale his newborn scent. “I’m going to call him Adam,” I say.

  Mark rocks Adam gently and the baby sucks on the pacifier, looking up at me with those big blue eyes. Chloe’s eyes.

  “I can do this,” I whisper, smiling through my tears as I lean to brush my lips against Adam’s soft cheek.

  Mark switches Adam to one arm and puts the other around my shoulders, hugging me against him. He kisses the top of my head. “We can do this.”

  Please turn the page for a very special

  Q&A with Colleen Faulkner!

  1. What made you decide to write about the subject of a parent caring for an adult child with an intellectual disability?

  I like women’s fiction that deals with real, present-day problems. I look at friends and family members who are dealing with issues that seem overwhelming to me and admire the strength I see in them. As a mother of four adults, I can only imagine how difficult it must be to make decisions for an adult child who can’t necessarily make her own decisions. I wanted to write about a woman I could laugh with and cry with . . . and admire.


  2. Are you and Alicia similar people?

  As a writer, I create fictitious characters, so no, Alicia isn’t me and I would not necessarily have made the choices she made. But I think there’s always a part of me in my female protagonists. Alicia has my practicality. There are times when I think Alicia could have fallen apart, but the practical side of her pushed through the pain or uncertainty because she felt she had no choice. Chloe had no one but Alicia. Alicia’s responsibility as a parent was to do the best she could for her child.

  3. Did you do research for the book, or do you have personal experience with people with intellectual disabilities?

  I did a lot of research on the subject of adults with mental challenges and the choices their caregivers have to make. I also read a lot about sexuality and adults with intellectual disability and talked at length with a friend who works in a group home for these special people. She’s had so many amazing experiences; she gave me a better understanding of the practical side of Alicia and Chloe’s life. I also grew up with family members my own age who are intellectually challenged, so I’ve seen the joy and the sadness in being a parent of such special sons and daughters.

  4. What next for Colleen Faulkner?

  One Last Summer tells the story of four women: Aurora, McKenzie, Janine, and Lilly, bound by friendship and tragedy as preteens, who have remained friends as adults. Now, in their forties, they’ve gathered at the beach for one last summer vacation together. McKenzie is dying. This will be their last chance to share their laughter and tears, revisit the past, and look to the future, which will not be what anyone expects.

  1. When the book opens, do you feel that Alicia is giving Chloe the independence she needs/deserves? If not, give an example.

  2. Would you have responded differently than Alicia when Chloe first came home saying she and Thomas were going to get married?

  3. Do you think Randall loved his daughter? Why do you think he wasn’t more involved in her life? Was Alicia responsible for his lack of involvement? Do you think Randall’s relationship with Chloe would have been different had Chloe not had an intellectual disability?